


We Pick Ourselves Undone (A Hole in my Soul)

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 22:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17211659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: Beric Dondarrion. A face that he had never imagined he'd see again, not even for a moment. Beric was older of course, but handsome still, the eyepatch making him look rakish now that he had some silver in his hair. Of course he had aged well, whilst Thoros looked as though he'd been recently murdered and then dug up again.The war changed a lot of things, not least Thoros himself, and he never thought he'd see the love of his life again. Until the night of the charity ball and a chance encounter.





	We Pick Ourselves Undone (A Hole in my Soul)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/gifts).



> Happy late birthday, Vana <3 Love you long time!

A charity auction wasn’t exactly Thoros’ idea of a good time. It wasn’t that he objected to charities milking every penny they could out of the big businesses of the city, but he failed to see why the newspaper was covering it. Well, he failed to see why he was covering it. There’d be nothing to take photos of, except rich people dressed up and sitting on their asses. If he wanted to do that, he’d have stayed with Vogue, and boy had that bloody magazine screwed him over. But here he was, camera in hand, dressed in a shirt and jacket, off to the Lightning Foundation charity auction. 

“Anywhere special, buddy?” the taxi driver asked him, eying his jacket. Thoros cleared his throat.

“Lightning Foundation on Riverland Avenue,” he said. “Do you know it?”

“Yep,” the driver said. “Traffic’s bad.”

Thoros just nodded, tugging at his collar. He couldn’t care less if he was late. He undid his top button and did it up again. Flipped open his camera bag even though he had checked it just before he left the flat, then closed it again. He bloody hated social events. Christ, he needed a drink. 

The driver was right, and they crawled through town. The taxi was a bit of an indulgence really, but Thoros didn’t want to take the bus in his suit, and he’d bloody well make the newspaper pay for it. It was the least that they owed him. He didn’t even know if they were sending a reporter too, or if this would be one of those stupid photo pull outs that the editor was obsessed with.

The Lightning Foundation had its headquarters in quite a small building, or at least it looked small from the outside. Thoros’ taxi got stuck in a queue of cars that were emptying people onto the pavement, and he took the opportunity to peer out of the window at the non-descript building. It had some large windows, but apart from that it could have been an office.

“Looks like the place to be,” the driver said, as Thoros pulled out his wallet to pay. “That’s Robb Stark, right? The racing driver?”

“Probably,” Thoros shrugged. “I just take the pictures.”

The driver seemed a bit disappointed, although he cheered up when he saw the tip that Thoros was planning on charging to the paper.

Thoros wished so desperately for a whisky that his hands shook as he got out of the taxi. God, it was noisy – and bright. What the fuck was he doing here? Jesus –  
“Oh thank God,” someone said, colliding with him and grabbing his arm. “I didn’t think you’d ever turn up.”

“Hi Arianne,” he said. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Arianne did a little twirl on the pavement, notebook clutched in one hand. As usual she looked stunning, in a fuck-me red dress, and Thoros’ hand went up to smooth his hair. He always looked like crap compared to her.

“They want me to interview the CEO, or whatever the hell he is called,” she said. “I don’t even know his name.”

She turned to look at the crowd, tucking her arm back into Thoros’. If she could feel him shaking, she didn’t say anything. Arianne was good like that. 

“Well,” Thoros said. “I guess we should at least pretend to be working.”

The queue of cars was dwindling and the giant crowd of people had somehow all got into the small building. 

“I suppose. What kind of bloody stupid name is the Lightning Foundation, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Thoros laughed, bending down to unpack his camera. He’d have to find somewhere to stash the bag.

“A load of self-congratulatory, personality wanking, if you ask me,” Arianne sighed, stamping out her cigarette. “If you want to donate money, just do it. Don’t get dressed up and come out to jack off with your rich friends over how rich and wonderful you all are.”

“Maybe don’t start the article with that,” Thoros grinned. When he got up, his camera around his neck, Arianne was smiling at him. 

“You ready?” she asked, and he nodded, a lump in his throat. She got it, she really did. But then she’d been there. She’d worked the warzones, just the same that he had. 

They were met at the door by a woman in a sparkling blue dress, cut almost to the thigh. Arianne eyed her carefully, and whacked Thoros on the arm when he raised his eyebrows. 

The woman took his bag to the cloakroom, then led them into the main room. It was big, much bigger than he’d been expecting, and Thoros’ grip on his camera loosened up a little. Not so claustrophobic. That was good, because it was packed. Robb Stark was there, surrounded by adoring entourage, and Arianne decided a photo of him would at least suggest to the editor they had been vaguely interested in the event.

They circulated the room together, and Arianne collected some quotes whilst Thoros snapped away. Apparently a young blonde woman was some famous actress, and another was a designer. Thoros didn’t know them, although he did spot Brynden Tully, the golfer, and the writer Maege Mormont. He’d met Maege years ago, at a festival he was working, and when he told Arianne that, she asked the woman if she remembered him. Maege did a good job of pretending, then surprised him.

“You had longer hair then,” she said. “And no beard. You’re thinner too.”

“No flies on that old bird,” Arianne muttered as they walked away. “What did you do, give her a quick one in a cupboard?”

“Excuse me,” a small voice said before Thoros could answer. “We’re ready for you backstage.”

It was the woman from earlier, bright red, and Thoros wondered how much she had heard. Arianne, red herself, slapped on a smile.

“Okie dokie,” she said, her voice high pitched. “Come on, Thoros.”

The crowd was being settled at large round tables by a small legion of waiters brandishing wine bottles. Thoros kept his eyes carefully ahead, glad to be too busy for the food, and all the trimmings that had to come with it.

The woman led them ‘backstage’, to what was really just a small room behind a curtain. There was a table for two set here, and a sofa.

“Take a seat. They’ll be through in a minute.”

Arianne flopped down on the sofa, and Thoros took a photo of her, his back to the door. Arianne began to pose, pouting, pulling at her dress and he snapped away.

“Yes, darling, give me more,” Thoros said.

“Been a while since anyone said that to me,” Arianne lay down, then snapped to attention at the sound of voices. The door opened and Thoros turned.

“Uncle Thoros!” a voice cried. “Uncle Beric, look!”

It was him. Sweet, fucking baby Jesus and all of the bloody saints. It was Beric. Here, in this room. Thoros lost his grip on his camera, only the strap around his neck stopping it falling to the floor and smashing into pieces. What was stopping him doing the same? He couldn't say for sure, but at least he was still standing.

Beric Dondarrion.

And little Ned, who wasn't so little anymore. He had been the first to speak, and he did again.

“Uncle Thoros! What are you doing here?”

The boy was almost as tall as he was now. He had to be at least thirteen, if Thoros was remembering right, and he looked so much like her. So much.

“Hello, Neddy,” he croaked, finding his voice and opening his arms. The boy slotted right back in, like he had never left them, and Thoros fought a strong and sudden urge to weep into that sandy hair. And he looked over Ned's shoulder to see Beric just standing there, frozen in place and thankfully looking as shocked as Thoros felt. They stared at one another until Arianne, who had been looking between them, cleared her throat.

“So,” she said casually. “You two know each other.”

Ned tried to persuade Thoros to stay, begged Beric to make him, but it was too much. Thoros snapped a few photos and then made himself scarce whilst Arianne got on with her interview. Beric hadn't said a word to him from the moment he walked in the room, and Thoros didn't want to think about what that meant. He escaped to the bathroom, locked himself in a stall and rested his head in his hands.

Beric Dondarrion. A face that he had never imagined he'd see again, not even for a moment. Beric was older of course, but handsome still, the eyepatch making him look rakish now that he had some silver in his hair. Of course he had aged well, whilst Thoros looked as though he'd been recently murdered and then dug up again.

Thoros bit at his fingernails. He hadn't known Beric was back in town, let alone running a foundation and hosting charity events. The last time he had seen him was seven years ago when the man had taken Ned, packed up and walked away. He'd just walked away and now he'd just walked right back.

“Oh fuck,” Thoros muttered into his fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

And then he ran, like he always did. 

Arianne called him when he was in the taxi, but he switched off his phone. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he closed his eyes to rest his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

The worst thing was, Beric hadn’t even been able to look at him.

***

When Thoros finally dragged himself out of bed the next morning, he switched on his phone like it might explode. There were three messages, which he ignored, and a voicemail that he listened to whilst he flipped on the kettle to make coffee.

“Thoros, babe,” Arianne slurred. “You missed all the free champagne. Fucking hate champagne but didn’t say no. Anyway I gave your number to Mr Charity, can’t remember his name. He’s fit though. Call me. I wanna know the deal there.”

Thoros almost dropped his phone. He should never have left her alone with Beric. Arianne was a reporter through and through, regardless of how much drink she might have sunk, and she was never going to let it go.

He was almost too nervous to check the texts, in case they were from him, but all three were also from Arianne, each more incoherent than the last. 

He poured water into the coffee maker and tried not to notice how his hands were shaking.

He threw back one of his pills and tried not to look at the photo of Ned on the fridge. 

***

By Sunday night, he was climbing the walls. 

Beric had no reason to get in touch, regardless of if Arianne thought it was a good idea or not. But now the thought was out there, Thoros couldn’t put it back in the box. 

So he fired up the computer and logged onto Facebook. He hadn’t really wanted it, but the guys on his old team had persuaded him to get it, so they could keep in touch. 

Beric had a profile alright, but it was very basic, like someone else had built it for him. Most of it was to do with the Foundation, and there was one recent photograph of Beric and Ned. It was pro shot, with great lighting and good angles. Beric looked impossibly handsome, his hair peppered with grey. Designer stubble, like that was ever something that he was interested in. And Ned. Little Ned. Good God, he looked like her.

***

A week. A crawling, torturous week, and Beric didn’t call.

***

“Did he ask you for a hook up?”

Thoros sipped at his coffee, and shoved a whole sandwich in his mouth. It was better that than answer Arianne’s question. As he chewed, he stared at her until she laughed and looked away.

“Okay, wrong question. Has he called?”

Thoros shook his head and ran a finger through the spilled coffee on the table top.

“Cos he was pretty desperate for your number, you know. I’d have thought he’d call straight away.”

“He what?” Thoros swallowed the sandwich and narrowly avoided choking to death. Arianne just grinned at him, and did absolutely nothing to help. 

“He asked you?” Thoros gasped.

“Well yeah. You didn’t think I just go around handing out other people’s numbers?”

“I don’t know what I think about you, Ari.”

“Hmm. Well, anyway, he was trying to be cool about it but he practically chased me out of the building.”

“Fuck.”

“Oh yes.”

***

In the end, Thoros broke first. He’d never had the resolve that Beric had, and he couldn’t stand the waiting anymore. So he drank a bottle of whisky and sent a message on Facebook. He wasn’t even sure that Beric used the account. He passed out as soon as he had sent it, so at least he was spared the torture of waiting for a reply that might never come. 

What he had stopped expecting was for the phone to ring, so when it woke him the next morning, he almost ignored it – it would only be Arianne anyway. But, as his phone was literally on his face, he took a bleary look at the screen. 

Unknown number.

Oh fuck.

“Hello?”

A pause.

“Hi. It’s me. Beric.”

As if he even needed to say it.

“How – how are you?”

Thoros struggled to sit up, pulling his duvet around him. He felt oddly vulnerable. 

“I saw your message,” Beric said, his voice measured. “And I think we need to talk.”

“Yep,” Thoros croaked. He couldn’t even remember what he had written, only that it was probably pathetically desperate. 

“Tonight?” Beric said, too quickly, and then checked himself. “If you’re free?”

I’d drop anything for you.

“Tonight. Sure.”

***

The restaurant that Beric had suggested was large, non-descript, and completely not fancy. It was ideal, really, for this kind of meeting and Thoros tried to keep calm as he leaned against the bar and sipped at a glass of whisky. Just the one glass, he promised himself. For courage that he didn’t have by himself. He could stop at one. 

He didn’t really know why he had got here early, other than it seemed like a better idea than sitting at home and watching the clock. He’d already driven himself mad changing his clothes three times after his shower and, in the end, decided it was better to just get out.

He ignored the waiters who were skirting around him, the loser by himself at the bar, and the barman who was trying to catch his eye. 

When Beric arrived, on time as always, Thoros found it much easier to throw the rest of his whisky down his throat. He watched as Beric spoke to the woman at the door, that effortlessly charming smile on his face. He was dressed in a shirt and jacket, tight across the shoulders, and tight trousers.

Fucking hell, he was beautiful.

He’d always been good looking, when they were both young and fresh faced, but Beric had really aged into his looks. The grey in his hair suited him, whereas Thoros knew that he himself looked more like a mangy badger with every day that went by. 

Beric caught his eye and nodded, following the waitress to the table. Thoros braced himself and made his way over to them. The waitress was chatting away, and Beric answered her politely, although his gaze was on Thoros’ face.

“Hi,” Beric said finally, when the waitress had taken their drinks order and wandered away.

“Hi.”

“It’s good to see you, Thoros.”

“And you.”

The restaurant was only half full, but noisy, and it covered the silence. Beric folded his hands on the table and bit at his lip. It was such a familiar habit that Thoros suddenly felt like crying.

God, he’d missed him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stick around that night. It was just – you know.”

“I get it,” Beric said. “Ned was pleased to see you. He hasn’t stopped asking when you’re coming back.”

Ned was safe ground, and Thoros smiled. This he could do. They’d always been good at this bit.

“I can’t believe how much he’s grown,” Thoros said. “Although I guess they do that. Grow.”

“You know, a few years ago, I had to buy him five pairs of school shoes in a year. No one tells you that part.”

Beric was grinning, his eye warm as he roved over Thoros’ face, and it could have been as though no time had passed. 

The evening went well enough, although Thoros was on the edge of his nerves the whole time. They stuck to safe topics; Ned, Beric’s charity work, Thoros’ photography. At the end of the meal, Beric insisted on paying and Thoros let him, because he didn’t have the strength to argue. His nerves were frayed, and it felt as if even a fingertip from Beric in the wrong place would send him over the edge. 

They’d survived this first encounter, and for now it would have to be enough. It was enough, although he still went home and drank most of a bottle of whisky.

***

“So what’s the deal with you and the Pirate Stud anyway?” Arianne asked, appearing at Thoros’ door the next evening that they weren’t working. She was holding two enormous bags of crisps, a bottle of wine and her handbag, which she tipped onto the table to reveal a DVD and more bags of chocolate. 

“Pretty Woman? Are you taking the piss?” Thoros asked, picking it up. “Couldn’t you have chosen a more dated and misogynistic film?”

“We won’t be watching it, dummy.” She grabbed it from him. “It’s only background noise and she’s pretty and he’s hot, so it’s win-win for both of us. You are going to tell me the whole deal with Hottie McHoterson in disgusting detail because I think I might actually die if you make me wait any longer.”

Thoros chuckled and sipped at the whisky he had poured just before Arianne had turned up. He’d half expected her to come, just as soon as they were both free. She wasn’t exaggerating – the wait would probably kill her.

He shoved the DVD into the player and went to change into sweats. Arianne had emerged from the bathroom in a pair of pyjama bottoms that she seemed to have produced from nowhere. By the time he made it back to the sofa, the film had started, and she had made them a nest. She put a glass of wine in his hand, and the stage was set. 

“You were a thing, right? You and Captain Hook?”

“Yes. Please don’t call him that. His name is Beric.”

“Alright,” she said easily. “Beric. You were a thing?”

“We were more than a thing, Ari,” Thoros sipped at his wine. “He’s the love of my bloody pathetic life.”

“I knew it!” she said. “What happened, babe?”

“Me. I happened. I wasn’t – I drank too much. When we came home from the war. I know it was my fault. He couldn’t look after Ned and me, so he picked the one that he had to. I don’t resent him the choice.”

He didn’t realise how good it would feel to finally say the words out loud. There’s been no one to tell the last time. Beric had always been the one he spoke to.

Arianne’s hand slipped over his, and Thoros looked up to find her face close to his. She did that, really looked people in the eye. It should have been weird but Thoros had never found it to be so. He liked how much she cared. 

“That’s so rough, Thorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make a joke of it. You know that I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I do.” He smiled weakly. “I know. And it was all a long time ago now. I haven’t seen Ned since he was six.”

Arianne sipped at her wine and stared at the TV for a while, although Thoros could practically hear the gears ticking over in her head. He already knew what the next question would be before she asked it.

“So – is Ned his kid? What’s the deal there?”

“No.” Thoros shook his head. “It’s a bit of a story, that.”

“I’ve got all night.”

“When we were younger, before the war, we used to live with this girl, Allyria. Beric had known her since they were kids. She was Ned’s aunt and she took him in when he was a baby because his mum died when he was born and his dad – Allyria’s brother – killed himself not long after.”

“Jesus,” Arianne downed her wine and reached to pour another glass. “I’m going to need this, aren’t I?”

Thoros didn’t answer her. He just needed to tell the story as fast as he could.

“Anyway, it was alright for a while and we all lived together quite happily. Allyria was the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. It was like having a sister. But then the war happened and I went away and when I came back –.” He stopped to swallow around a lump in his throat. “She was gone. She died in a car crash and Beric couldn’t even get hold of me to tell me. Ned didn’t have anyone else so he stayed with Beric and we were trying to adopt him officially but – I was drinking too much. They were already trying to take him away from us so Beric had to make a choice. He chose Ned. And I don’t blame him for it. What’s a little kid versus a pathetic drunk?”

He didn’t even realise he was crying until Arianne reached up and wiped at his face with her sleeve. He clutched her arm to his face and she let him hold it there, until he felt like he could look her in the eye. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was for her to feel sorry for him. 

“That’s rough, Thorry,” she said. “But he’s the one who called you, right? Maybe the time has come for you to reconcile?”  
“I blew my chance,” he said, about to sip at his wine and then thinking better of it.

“Never say never, babe.”

***

The next time Beric called, Thoros was ready for it. Or more ready than he had been, anyway. 

“How’s your week been?” Beric asked, and Thoros could hear the rattle of dishes in the sink in the background. 

“Oh you know. Just working.”

Just thinking about you.

“Yeah, me too.”

There was a beat of silence, and Thoros took a gulp of the whisky he was swirling in the glass. 

“Listen, Thoros. We didn’t talk much the other day. Not really.”

“Nope.”

“Do you – Ned’s going to a sleepover tomorrow night and I was wondering if you’d like to come over. We can talk. Properly. I’ll cook.”

“Yeah. Okay.” It wasn’t much, but it was about as much as he could say. 

“Great. I’ll text you the address. Say 7pm?”

“Yep.”

***

Beric’s house wasn’t as large as Thoros was expecting, now that he was some big time business man, but then again, he had never been showy. 

Beric answered the door dressed in a loose shirt and jeans, with nothing on his feet. It felt weirdly intimate to see his bare feet and Thoros tried not to look at them as Beric took his jacket and shoes and put them away in a closet. 

Dinner was simple, just pasta and a homemade sauce, but Thoros didn’t mind – he could barely taste it anyway. Beric had provided a bottle of wine but Thoros refused it, and the whisky he was offered afterwards with dessert. He needed a clear head for whatever was going to happen here, and it felt like an insult to rub his alcoholism in Beric’s face when it had been the thing that broke them up before. 

Beric noticed though. Of course he did. 

“You’re not drinking?”

“Trying. Not very hard, but thinking about it at least.”

“Good for you, Thoros. I mean that.”

From anyone else, it would be patronising, but Beric had earned the right to say pretty much anything he wanted. He’d tried so hard to help when Thoros came back from the war, and it had all been in vain. Another thing that was Thoros’ fault. 

After dinner, Beric led him through to the lounge with a pot of coffee. This was it. Time to talk. 

“How have you been, Thoros?” Beric didn’t look at him as he poured the coffees. 

“Oh you know. Muddling along. Working gigs when I could get them and now I’m with the paper. You remember Ari, I guess? She got me the job. Doesn’t pay much but its steady.”

Beric gave him a small smile as he handed over the coffee and settled down at the end of the sofa, his bare feet tucked up underneath him. 

“I remember Arianne, alright. She’s hard to forget.”

“And you? Philanthropist?”

“It’s just about giving back,” Beric ducked his head, his cheeks red where his beard didn’t cover them. “There’s so many people who lost so much in the war. Ned and I have everything - have a lot to give.”

There was something odd in how he cut himself off, and Thoros looked up to see Beric staring into his mug. 

“You were going to say you have everything that you need.”

“I was. But we both know that isn’t quite true.”

Thoros could hardly dare to believe that Beric meant what he thought he meant, but the silence that hung between them was so sharp that he couldn’t imagine it meant anything else. He was frozen in place, helpless, as Beric suddenly shifted towards him on the sofa. He watched as, in slow motion, Beric’s hand came to take his. 

Oh fuck. 

“We’ve missed you, Thoros.” Beric’s voice was barely a whisper, rough in his throat. “Ned has, I know. But I – there’s never been anyone else. When I saw you in that room, after all this time - I thought I was going to keel over right there and then.”

Beric’s hand was hot, partly from the warmth of the coffee cup, and partly because he was burning. He’d always run hot and Thoros blushed as he remembered the heat of Beric’s hands on him, how much he had loved it and needed it, and how cold he had been since Beric left.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I know you might not feel the same. But I had to tell you.”

Beric’s eye was shining when Thoros dared to look up. He’d been the reason that Beric cried too many times before, and he wasn’t going to be the reason now. So he did the only thing that he could think of around the frazzle of his nerves. He leaned in and kissed him.

Beric wasn’t expecting it and he gasped against Thoros’ lips, a puff of warm air. There was a second, and then Beric was pulling him close, his hands grasping at the back of Thoros’ shirt. It was different to before – Thoros had never kissed someone with a beard – but it was so familiar that he felt his own tears creeping up his throat. He brought his hand up to hold the back of Beric’s head and ran his fingers through the short hair. Beric shivered under the touch. 

The kiss was full of heat, soft and scratchy and so perfect that Thoros kept expecting to wake up. Beric tasted of coffee and a hint of cinnamon from dinner and when he finally pulled away to rest his forehead against Thoros’, he really was weeping. Thoros brushed the tears away and Beric caught his fingers, kissing them.

“I never thought – Thoros, please – I’m sorry I ever let you go.”

“You did the right thing, for him. I’ve never resented you that.”

“You’re so good,” Beric murmured. “I know you don’t believe it, but you are. And I let you down. I wasn’t strong enough and I should have been. You needed help.”

“You didn’t let me down. You did the right thing. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I never stopped believing that.”

Beric let out a sob.

“Will you – I don’t want to presume anything, Thoros. But you can – please –”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thoros said, and he felt stronger than he had in years, with his arms around Beric again. “If you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Beric didn’t reply. Instead he got to his feet and dragged Thoros after him. They were going upstairs, and Thoros feared that his heart might burst in his chest before he made it to Beric’s bedroom. 

The room was simple and so Beric; a blue duvet cover on a large bed, calm grey walls and a few shelves with books on. Thoros stopped to push the door closed behind him, and was surprised to find himself pinned against it, Beric’s mouth at his throat, peppering kisses. Beric had always been a little bit taller, and Thoros stood on his toes, fumbling with his shirt buttons to give Beric better access. 

“I need you, Thoros,” Beric mumbled against his shoulder. “Right now. Please.”

“Are you sure?” Thoros ran his hands down Beric’s back and squeezed his ass. Beric bucked forwards and Thoros was left in no doubt that he was, in fact, certain.

“Oh God, please.”

The begging was too much for Thoros. It always had been, when Beric was like this, and so he drove him back towards the bed until his legs hit it. Beric sat down and reached for Thoros’ waistband, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. Even though he was waiting for it, Beric’s large hand on his cock was almost too much. Thoros reached down and stilled his hand, his voice steadier than he was expecting.

“If you keep that up, this will be very disappointing.”

“It’s already more than I could have hoped for,” Beric said, but he let Thoros go and undressed himself, too impatient to wait. Thoros tugged his own shirt over his head and crawled onto the bed. Beric was already rummaging in a drawer and took out a condom and an unopened bottle of lube. Thoros raised his eyebrows and Beric blushed. 

“Just in case – things went well.”

“Still as organised as ever,” Thoros smiled, then gasped as Beric reached for him once more and rolled on the condom. Thoros’ cock was straining – it at least hadn’t forgotten how to do this, no matter how shy he was feeling – and Beric gave it a stroke before he finally let go, settling himself back against the pillows. 

“This is very fast, darling,” Thoros crawled over him and kissed him again, their cocks brushing. It felt so good that he groaned into Beric’s mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Please. We have all the time in the world to make it up,” Beric said. “I’ve wanted this since you walked back into my life. Don’t make me wait.”

Any nerves Thoros was harbouring disappeared as he poured some of the lube onto his fingers and approached Beric. Beric groaned as Thoros pushed in the first finger, all the way past the knuckle. Beric hadn’t been lying – it had clearly been a while. 

“Tell me to slow down, if you need it,” he murmured, kissing Beric’s ear. Beric shivered and shook his head. 

“More. Keep going.”

Two fingers, then three, and when he crooked them, Beric swore and his hips bucked. He was so beautiful, sculpted from time in the gym no doubt, and sweating now. Thoros licked at the sweat on Beric’s neck and pulled his fingers out. He slicked himself up, aware that Beric’s eyes were on him, then took a deep breath as he lined himself up. 

He looked up one more time for assurance and Beric nodded.

Thoros moaned as he pushed in, and this time he couldn’t stop the tears. This was like coming home, when he’d been so lost and so alone for so long, and it was Beric, and Beric wanted him, just like before. 

Thoros tried to move slowly, but Beric had other ideas and matched his thrusts, until they were both panting. Thoros fumbled between them and found Beric’s straining cock, trying to stroke it in time, but Beric had set a fast rhythm and it was clumsy. It didn’t seem to matter though, and the feel of Beric coming over his fingers was enough to send Thoros over the edge soon after him. 

“I love you,” Beric gasped, “I love you so much, Thoros. I don’t want to be away from you ever again.”

Thoros collapsed into Beric’s arms, pressing his face into his neck. 

Here it was, the thing that he had been missing all this time.


End file.
